


Runaway

by Zeebruh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eternal Sterek, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Love, M/M, Romance, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeebruh/pseuds/Zeebruh
Summary: What does it mean to have mind-blowing sex with a werewolf who then doesn't call or text for weeks on end afterwards? Stiles can only assume the worst, unless proven otherwise.





	Runaway

**Author's Note:**

> Just another old school, S1-S2 era, angsty fluffy oneshot Sterek smut.

Sometimes, Derek disappears. And Stiles has no fucking clue what to do with himself.

“It’s gonna happen sometimes, Stiles,” Derek said to him once, in the sticky heat of a warm summer night and what was probably the best sex of Stiles’ life. “You gotta know, it has nothing to do with you. Okay?”

Stiles tries to nod, but he knows it looks unconvincing.

When Derek shoots him with a look, he sighs, “It just… I dunno Derek. Call me crazy but when the hot guy I’m banging drops off the face of the earth for weeks at a time, it kinda feels like I’m being blown off,” Stiles attempts to pass this off with a smirk.

Derek meets this with a small growl, but nuzzles the younger boy’s ear. “It’s not that. Trust me.” Stiles sighs and takes it, because he knows it’s the truth – at least, he has to believe it is.

He has to actively stop himself from throwing his arms around Derek and telling him to never leave, ever, when Derek quietly adds, “It’s just... the way I am.”

 

\--

 

Stiles knows the guy is in pain, like, all the time. Derek has kind of had a track record for landing in ridiculously tragic situations - so it’s actually pretty amazing that Derek’s as  _ normal _ as he is.

But it doesn’t stop Stiles own pain, that he feels when he stares at his phone three days after Stiles had snuck out of the house into Derek’s apartment, had a few drinks, and had been fucked mercilessly on the bed, in the shower, in the kitchen before contentedly falling asleep next to Derek. He distinctly remembers the words, “I’m so fucking happy right now,” spilling out of Derek’s lips, only reaching the slightly tipsy stage given his wolf status, while Stiles necked him with a heady buzz.

He remembers the sensation of his heart literally swelling at those words, and the only way he could react appropriately was to tangle his hand in Derek’s hair and kiss him deeply, Derek’s arms wrapping around Stiles as if he wanted him there forever.

And now it’s three days later, and Stiles is staring at his phone like a fucking idiot. He gazes at the harsh screen reading “hey” -- so generic and unfeeling, but it was all he could think of next to  _ get the fuck over here and screw me you big idiot.  _ And no response.

Not for three days, which inevitably becomes five, and that becomes eight, and his memories of Derek whispering those words to him are all that keeps Stiles from pulling the skin off his own face.

 

\--

 

He freaks out because he worries. He worries like a motherfucker because he’s a giant meat popsicle of nerves and anxiety, and Derek -- Derek gets himself into danger, always. Sure, he worries about Scott too but Scott relies on Stiles. Stiles, well, _ generally  _ always knows what’s going on, what kind of stupid shit Scott has gotten himself into, and is usually there to help.

But Derek - Derek, the lone wolf, tough as hell on the outside but so damaged on the inside. Sometimes Stiles wonders if the damage is irreparable. Derek, who he has to practically pull teeth out of to get any ounce of information out of. . . how can Stiles  _ not  _ worry?

He imagines Derek all bloodied, healed for the most part but looking worn, so exhausted with life, and it eats away at Stiles. _Where is he? What is he doing? Why doesn’t he ever let me be_ _there for him?_

What hurts him even more is that when he sees him, it’s always so good. Stiles is pretty sure he’s falling for the guy so it hurts him to not know if he’s safe when he disappears. If he’s safe, and whether or not Stiles is just … convenient to him.

That’s what hurts him the most.

 

\--

 

And just like that, Stiles can’t help the way he melts when he finally sees him again. It’s sixteen days later and he gets a text that says, “hey. can you come over?”

Blood on his shirt, bags under his eyes, scowling deep until the corner of his mouth lifts just a little when Stiles walks in with a take-out bag of chinese food.

“You motherfucker,” is all he says, but it’s with a chuckle.

“I know,” Derek gives him a sympathetic look, getting to his feet from his worn couch. “I’m sorry. You know I am.”

The way he’s looking at Stiles, with those piercing eyes and the words heavy on his tongue, Stiles just shrugs it off. “Yeah, well. Glad to see you still standing. I --”

But Derek has already made his way to Stiles, take-out be damned, and swiftly cuts him off with a strong hand at the back of his head. Stiles’ back makes hard impact with the nearest wall.

And then it’s all Derek’s hot mouth, tongues sliding desperately against each other’s, his outdoors-and-spice musk, his erection already growing and pressing against Stiles’ thigh.

“I missed you,” the wolf sighs between breaths, and Stiles has one arm wrapped around Derek’s neck, the other creeping under his shirt against hard muscles. He can’t help the dizzying surge that goes through his entire body when he feels Derek against him. It’s too much, and not enough.

“Did you?” he’s able to get out, and he says it jestingly but Derek picks up on the undertone of bitterness. Stiles regrets it immediately.

“Don’t ask me that,” he bites Stiles’ lip, nearly drawing blood as his hands squeeze the shorter boy’s ass. He knows that it drives Stiles crazy. “You already know the answer.”

Stiles decides it’s best to drop the subject and resorts to a flurry of nods, already falling behind the pace as Derek is pulling their shirts off. Well, he pulls his own off, and all but tears Stiles’ off. He has a hand around Stiles’ neck, settling beneath his jaw with just the right amount of pressure. Before he knows it, Derek is lifting him, so that Stiles’ legs are wrapped around Derek’s hips and his cock, stifled by his jeans, is grinding against Derek’s stomach.

By this point, Stiles usually forgets everything. He forgets worrying about how Derek feels about him. He melts when Derek stares at him and smiles that heart breaking smile; he gets lost in the heat of them, in the moans of their orgasms, in the rough way that Derek handles him and the tender way he kisses him when they’re coming down.

But now -- now, the feeling that’s been eating his stomach alive for the past few weeks is only intensifying. It’s too much, and he thought it would disappear the second his eyes met Derek’s but it’s not, and it’s too much, it’s making his head spin and his body is uncomfortably hot.  

He keeps going, though, because maybe the feeling in his stomach will go away when he listens to the way Derek is whispering, “You like it like that, don’t you? You make my cock so fucking hard, Stiles,  _ fuck _ I missed you,” and Stiles replies, “I missed you too,” but can’t bring himself to say anything else.

He stays quiet save for the involuntary moans when Derek touches him, slides his jeans off, and he clutches to Derek's neck for dear life when he starts to fuck Stiles, up against the wall, strong arms circling his thighs and waist.

Derek whispers, "That was amazing," nuzzling into Stiles' neck when they're slumped across the sofa, watching some documentary on Netflix.  

Stiles musters a smile back, and says “Always is,” but it sounds weak. Derek doesn't notice, and slings his arm around Stiles, staring contentedly at the TV until he falls peacefully asleep.  

 

\--

 

He doesn't try to contact Derek.

That feeling in his stomach has graduated from gnawing his intestines to concentrating into one heavy, dark, static pit in his gut. Uncomfortable, but bearable.

He goes on with his life normally. Scott doesn’t notice anything different in him, but then again, it is Scott. But it’s also Stiles, who gradually forces himself to think less of Derek’s body and hard cock and the way he kisses him, at night when his hand is wrapped over his own length.

Because it hurts. When he’s coming down, and he thinks about Derek and how he’s not next to Stiles, it hurts -- and it takes all of Stiles’ will to control the wetness in his eyes and let it recede.

So when Derek shows up at his window, a month later, Stiles doesn’t even blink.

“Hi,” Derek eventually says, after a moment of awkwardness. His hands are shoved in his pockets, Stiles’ dim lamp and the moon providing the only light in the room. It’s late, and his dad’s asleep, and Stiles is just coming back from the bathroom.

“Hey,” is all Stiles says. Derek looks gorgeous, as usual, but something inside Stiles is missing now. He doesn’t feel like jumping his bones. It aches to see him. 

Instead, he goes to his bed, taking some of the books off to clear it, going about his business the way he would if an alpha werewolf wasn’t standing in the middle of his room.

“Stiles…”

He keeps going with the books and ignoring Derek, because the cold dark pit inside him is becoming hot, and churning, and it bothers him that this is happening so he just keeps cleaning.

“Stiles, say something…”

But he’s silent, and as he passes Derek, a strong hand clamps around his forearm, holding him in place. Stiles immediately reacts by trying to shove him off, but Derek’s all muscle and hardness and raw power and Stiles is, well, exponentially less so.

The younger boy sighs. “Stop. I can’t right now. I have stuff to do.”

Derek looks skeptically up and down at Stiles, who’s in his night clothes. “Stuff?”

“Yes,  _ stuff _ ,” Stiles’ voice becomes irritated, and he tries to yank himself out of Derek’s grip again even though he knows it’s fruitless. He does it to make a point.

The wolf only gets closer. “Please, Stiles,” he says, and Stiles can feel Derek’s breath on his face. He’s trying to avoid eye contact but the desperation in Derek’s words makes it difficult. “Tell me what I did. I haven’t heard from you, and. . .” he trails off.

Something snaps inside of Stiles, and he’s looking Derek square in the eye. “And what, Derek? You know, I haven’t exactly  _ heard from you  _ either. You missed having a fuck buddy? Well, tough luck man, we don’t always get what we want.”

Derek’s finally let go of his arm, and his own hand falls limp at his side. His mouth is slightly agape and Stiles can’t help but notice the sadness in his eyes.

“Stiles,” he says slowly, “how many times have I told you--”

Stiles waves his arm. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it has ‘nothing to do with me’. Well you know what, Derek, I can’t do this anymore. Maybe there’s something wrong with me but I mean, look, I can’t just fuck you and then be okay with you disappearing. It makes me feel like shit, okay? I can’t keep fucking you and then go on and pretend as if I’m not in lo--”

He stops himself. He can feel his own eyes go wide.

Derek is silent too. He’s staring at Stiles and Stiles just wants to crawl in a corner and wither away.

“I . . . um, forget it. I’m tired, Derek. Please, just -- go.”

He can’t look at him anymore. He doesn’t want to see the pity on Derek’s face. So he just gets into bed and turns the light off.

After a few minutes, he hears the window open, and Derek is gone. Unfortunately, the pit in Stiles’ stomach is not, and he doesn’t fall asleep that night.

 

\---

 

It’s a week later and Scott can’t stop himself from going on about how bad of a mood Derek has been in lately.

“I think you should just talk to him.”

“And say what? ‘Sorry that I confessed my love for you, let’s forget it ever happened, put ‘er there buddy’? Come on, Scott. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

Scott chews at his lip. “I don’t think that’s the case. He’s been  _ so  _ on edge, Stiles. Anytime I mention your name he gets all tense and weird!”

“I’m telling you, he’s trying to forget it happened. I’m just some dumb teenager who made sex out to be a way bigger deal than it should have been. Figures, right?” Stiles knows he’s being snarkier than usual, and that Scott doesn’t deserve it because he’s not the one who’s done any wrong, but it’s Stiles’ only outlet.

Scott’s face falls. “You don’t know that.”  

“Of course I know it. I was just a …  _ convenience _ to him, and clearly I was delusional as all hell because I thought that maybe he felt something for me too.”

“I really just think that if you--”

Stiles sighs, heavily and slowly, “Scott, please? I really don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

The wolf gives his best friend a sad smile. “Okay.”

 

\----

 

Leave it to Derek to show up the moment Stiles has finally stopped moping around. It’s been a month and a half since Derek last stood by his window (yes, Stiles is still counting), when he appears again. This time it’s right after school, when Stiles has swung open his room door, and sees Derek sitting quietly on the bed. Solemn, stoic, and still frustratingly beautiful.

“What the--” Stiles is stunned, of course, and can barely get a word out before Derek has stood up abruptly and walks toward him.  

“Stiles --”

And Derek is just a foot away from him now, but Stiles has a hand in front of him, partially out of being a natural drama queen and partially because he just can’t handle Derek being any closer to him.

“Please don't say anything. It's okay. I'll get over it, I promise. Just let me be and we can get on with our lives and you can brood and be sour wolf again and help us on missions and that'll be that. Okay? It's fine. It's not a big deal,” he gets out breathlessly, his eyes shut the whole time because he knows that one glance at the wolf would make him weak in the knees.

He feels Derek move closer. His breath is on Stiles’ face. 

“That’s the thing, Stiles. I don't  _ want _ you to get over it.”

The younger boy snaps his eyes open, brows furrowed, and stares at Derek, expecting him to elaborate. But he doesn’t, because that’s classic Derek - proclaiming these ambiguous statements and never following up on them. The wolf has his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, so close that he can smell Derek’s dizzying scent and tries hard not to melt into his touch.

After a long pause, Stiles says, “Don't torture me like this Derek. Please. I told you I can’t just keep doing this, it’s too much--”

“I love you too.”

And there it is. The sentence Stiles never thought he would hear. It affirms that Derek did indeed hear Stiles almost say it, a month and a half ago, and even though it’s been that long it doesn’t matter to him. It doesn’t matter. Because the tall, intense, gorgeous as hell wolf standing in front of him is looking straight into his eyes and saying it with such conviction that Stiles knows to believe him.

Derek continues. "Look, I -- I know I haven't been treating you right. I just . . . don't know how to let people help. So I deal with things on my own. But--" he says before Stiles can interject, "-- I'm willing to learn. And I want you. Not just for sex, but in every way." 

Stiles swallows, his body buzzing with adrenaline, but still remains cautious. He lets his hand entwine with Derek's, though. "Why did you stay away for so long then? Why didn't I hear from you?" 

He expects Derek to shrug, and give some nonchalant answer. Instead, he says, "I thought after the last time that you wanted nothing to do with me. I thought maybe you didn't mean what you said, and I wouldn't blame you. So I stayed away. But then Scott. . ." 

Stiles couldn't help but crack a smile at the name, rolling his eyes, "Why am I not surprised?" 

Derek flashes his smile, that lights up his entire face, back at Stiles. His shoulders relax and his grip on Stiles' hand tightens. "He told me you were miserable without me," Derek says cheekily.

Stiles scoffs, "Oh please! He told me  _ you  _ were miserable without  _ me!"  _ and they both let out a laugh, finally able to lessen the tension for the first time in ages. Derek moves even closer to Stiles now, and while their laughter dies down Derek slips a hand into Stiles' short hair. Stiles feels his pulse quicken because he's pretty sure Derek has never looked at him like this before. 

"I don't think I can handle it if you leave like that again," Stiles admits in a low voice, embarrassed of his neediness. 

"I won't," Derek breathes, the sound of promise in his tone, "I won't ever leave you again." 

And that's it. It's everything. It's the reassurance that Stiles always needed, the breathless truth, untainted by post-sex adrenaline or mid-fight anxiety. Stiles follows his own advice and feels the need to tell Derek those three words again, this time in full, and coming from a place of peace instead of anger. 

"I love you, Derek." The words feel foreign to him, yet they come out effortlessly. They feel right. 

The grin that spreads on Derek's usually indomitable face makes Stiles' heart swell. He finally leans in and Stiles feels Derek's lips on his for the first time in almost two months, and remembers just how much he loves the feeling. The sun spills through the window and onto the back of Derek's neck, where Stiles has planted his hand just to bring them closer together. 

When Derek's hands rake up against Stiles' bare skin, beneath his shirt, it's slow and deliberate. The concept of time dissipates and all Stiles feels is Derek. Stiles lets his tongue slide against the alpha's, eliciting a small growl from the back of Derek's throat. Derek picks him up swiftly -- Stiles is always baffled at how Derek treats him as if he's feather-light, and trails kisses along the taller man's neck until he's thrust down onto the bed. 

He immediately wraps his legs around Derek, and Derek has one arm around Stiles' head and the other gripping the back of the younger boy's thigh. The desperation for each other seeps through every kiss, every touch, every moan, and soon Stiles is bucking his hips up into Derek's, seeking contact with his hard cock. 

"I want your cock in my mouth," Stiles rumbles, hungry for every part of the man who just proclaimed his love for him in broad daylight. Derek lets out a sound that makes Stiles even harder, and rapidly slips off his pants, revealing to be wearing no briefs underneath. Before Stiles can give him any praise at just how _fucking_ _sexy_ that is, Derek is straddling Stiles' chest, holding his wrists down with his own hands, dick hard and strained upward before Stiles tastes it with his tongue. He looks up just to see Derek's face, which is painted with bliss as his eyes shut momentarily, and looks back down at Stiles. His eyes are urging him to do it again, _do more_. 

Stiles loves the feel of Derek's hard length in his mouth, he takes it eagerly and fully, and feels his own dick leaking precum as Derek begins to fuck his throat. Derek is dominating him, grunting with every thrust like the animal he is, his hard grip pinning Stiles hands to the bed as Stiles gags on him, both enjoying every single fucking second of it. 

He can taste how close Derek is to orgasm, willing to taste him against his tongue, when Derek pulls out. His cock is slick with Stiles' spit, and he drags Stiles to the edge of the bed while ridding him of all his clothes, and Stiles can't complain because he wants all of Derek, every part of him, right now. 

"I need to be inside you, Stiles," he tells him, even though Stiles already knows this is happening, and he can't help but feel endearment towards this more vocal Derek, the one who wants to be sensitive to Stiles' feelings while simultaneously wanting to fuck him into oblivion. 

Stiles just nods, gracelessly grabbing the lube from his bedside drawer, which Derek takes from him and immediately coats his fingers. Stiles is still on his back, and Derek just stares at him longingly as he slides his fingers into Stiles' ass, slowly but determinedly. 

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Stiles can't help but let out because it feels so goddamn good. Derek quickly works up from two fingers to three, the pace quickening as his lust builds. 

It's only a few seconds, maybe a minute later (Stiles isn't keeping track of time, he's lost in Derek) when Stiles begs him to just fuck him already. He wants him more badly than he's ever wanted him in his life. 

Derek obeys, liberally coating his own cock with the lube, and Stiles begins to flip onto his stomach when Derek stops him. 

"No," he tells him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I want to look at you." 

And Stiles is so overwhelmed with emotion that he can hardly respond. He responds the way he knows how will convey what he's feeling the best, by bringing Derek close and kissing him. It's supposed to be an appreciation kiss, but it inevitably turns into a dirty, wet, deep kiss that's all tongues and nibbles on lower lips and blissful sighs. They still have their lips on each other's when Derek slides his smooth cock into Stiles, filling him so entirely that Stiles groans into Derek's mouth and Derek just holds him closer, tighter. 

It's been long enough since the last time that it feels ever so slightly uncomfortable at first, but with every slow thrust Stiles feels himself opening up - literally, figuratively - and soon they're in full swing, Derek alternates between kissing Stiles' face, mouth, and they breath into each other's necks and unabashedly let out moans of pure pleasure. Derek fucks Stiles, Stiles gives him everything back, unafraid to drag his nails along the back of Derek's back and arms and into his hair as he feels beads of sweat build between the two of them. More importantly, Stiles feels what he always had an inkling of before but had never affirmed until now; that it was never just sex with them, it was _always_ more. 

Stiles strokes himself and he can tell by Derek's fast pace, the rhythmic way he slams into Stiles' ass and how it quickens with every second, that he's close once again. 

"I want you to cum at the same time," Derek manages to say, breathless. One of Stiles' legs is slung over Derek's shoulder, and Derek licks a stripe up Stiles' bare chest and neck because he knows that will set Stiles off. 

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles groans, his hand working furiously at his own length, his ass filled and Derek is hitting his spot so  _fucking_ well, he knows he's going to finish soon too and it's not until Derek tightens up, lets out a long moan and buries his neck into Stiles, holding him closer than ever, that Stiles feels his own release amidst the euphoria. They lay there, intertwined, sticky, sweaty, heaving, but never willing to let go of one another. 

Derek peppers him with small kisses even when they're coming down, all spent and limp, and it only makes Stiles smile like an absolute idiot because he's pretty sure they didn't just fuck, they made love. And he kind of loves the idea of it. 

They lounge around on Stiles' bed for a while even after they've cleaned up, still naked, lazily touching one another whenever they can. Derek fills Stiles in on all that's happened since they last saw each other, the crazy stories, and sometimes Stiles forgets that Derek has this whole other supernatural life because right now all he can see is someone so incredibly human. 

It's not until the sun begins to set a little later that Stiles realizes, "I think that's the first time we've ever had sex during the day," and even though it's silly he feels a sense of accomplishment, finally feels like this whole day's events have solidified so many things. 

Derek looks outside for a while, the orange of the fiery sky reflecting back into his piercing eyes. 

He chuckles, and lets his arms wrap around Stiles once more. "Hm, I think you're right," and kisses the younger boy in a way that, without words, conveys that there will be many more days like this one. 

Stiles is, finally, content. 

- 

END 

 


End file.
